I dreamt I caught a bird, a hot and fluttering heart. It was so real. I showed it to my daughter and we let it go. So much of the time, there are built-up layers between us and the real: a song in our head masking the thoughts in our mind overpowering the news on the radio as we auto-pilot to work in the car we keep paying for in repairs and maintenance and taxes and wars traveling to work through a sea of people we don’t know to have face-time with a computer.
I took my daughter to the woods. We have woods near our house which we’ve explored many times. There we’ve found leaves turning color, various birds and trees, a musk rat, an animal hole, swans in the pond, rabbits in the brush, graffiti on rocks, and teenager trash. This time, we went out to woods by a farm, posted with “No Hunting” signs. We found pine, oak, and birch, various mushrooms, a single ripe blackberry, ferns and moss, and a tiny worm hiding inside a pine cone.
On a whim, we left the path to explore a mossy rocky mound and found a toad. It was nearly impossible to see amidst the leave litter. I had kept reminding my chatty daughter that she would see more if she was quiet. I caught the toad and caught the toad and caught the toad as she relished its aliveness. She turned it over to discover its spotted belly, and wanted to hold it forever. She will remember this more than any nature show or magazine, any Youtube video or science book. She had life in her hand.
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